“The treasure is Mr Paul Capel’s, sir,” said the old lawyer; “but, even if he expressed a wish, I could not depart from my instructions. To-morrow, at noon, I bid you all to meet me at the door of Colonel Capel’s room.”
“To-morrow?” said Artis. “To-day.”
The old lawyer glanced at his watch.
“Yes,” he said, “to-day. I had forgotten that it was so late. Will you kindly accompany me to the drawing-room?”
The Indian went first and drew back the curtain, and they passed up into the bedroom, where the old officer lay in state.
There they paused, as Ramo drew back the iron door and turned the key, when the bolts shot into their sockets, and the curtain was drawn.
Then, glancing at the bed, they passed out of the room, Ramo locking the door, listening sharply, with his ears twitching, as he caught a faint creaking noise made by a lock in the lower part of the house.
“How strange that bronze figure looks,” said Mr Girtle, glancing up at the great centaur looming indistinctly against the stained-glass window, in whose recess it stood.
“Yes,” said Paul. “It is a fine work, but it looks as if it were going to dash out some one’s brains.”
“That is what I have always thought whenever I have entered or left that room.”